


gold

by rae_aaah



Series: witcherAU maybe [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Bottom Lance (Voltron), M/M, Rimming, Siren Lance (Voltron), Top Keith (Voltron), Vampire Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_aaah/pseuds/rae_aaah
Summary: “Please, please, help me!” he whispers in a quiet, strained voice.Keith pulls away and looks down. Bright blue eyes shine at him, and across one flushed cheek, the skin shines. His lip is cut close to the corner and Keith's senses reel.“They'll kill me, please, help me,” the man pleads.And Keith gets more than he bargains for when he helps him.





	1. Author's Note

So, I was playing Witcher 3: Wild Hunt when this Idea came to me. As I continued to write I realized that the Witcher has ZERO of these traits and now it's just a loosely based idea where there's like corrupted animals/beings and the hunters that kill them to stop them. Side note: parden ye ole speech. I tried to upgrade it to "more normal" without it being super out of place with the setting. Roll with it. All the good bits have more common terms ;).

 

Also, just indulge me in the porn that follows. I did some research about pain play and vampires and biting and stuff and there's conflicting information about all of it but it's all worth it in the end for the sex. I tried to not just shove it in there (pardon the pun) and made it as cohesive and plausible as possible. Grain of salt! 

 

If inspiration strikes, I might write more in this vein.


	2. Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *’pevun’ya’ is a rough Google translation of ‘song bird’ in Russian.

Keith crouches and touches the wooden floorboards. It’s dusty in the abandoned building but under his fingers there’s a wide swath of clean floor, like something was dragged over it. It wasn't the clean lines of a broom, but the jagged edges of a struggling body. When he pulls his hand back, he inspects his glove and there’s faint traces of blood left.

"How long, do you think?" Shiro asks from behind him.

Keith mulls it over, rubbing his fingers together in a nervous gesture even two centuries couldn’t displace. "A day or two. Might still be alive, might not. It depends if it was hungry or bored," he says. He looks over at his companion and sees that Shiro has this pinched look on his face that betrays his usual calm demeanour.

"For it's sake, I hope the death was quick," he says.

Keith nods and stands, his shoes making no noise on the wood. "It's here, alright," he says, wiping his hand on the side of his trousers. "There's probably a cellar door that it uses."

Shiro nods and turns on his heel to make for the horses. Keith follows and winces once he's outside. His eyes adjust to the bright afternoon light and immediately his brow sweats.

Shiro rummages around inside the saddle bags and pulls out a small red pouch. He tosses it to Keith and goes back to searching. There's a knife at the bottom of the bag and, even though it is wrapped in an dry cloth, he handles it carefully.

"A trap?" Keith asks, coming to stand by his own mare. He pets her long nose and she gives a soft nicker.

Shiro nods and unwraps the dagger. It glints harshly in the sun for a moment. Shiro brings the blade to the pad of his thumb and with an easy flick of his wrist opens a wound and lets his blood run along the edge.

Keith stares at the blood, red and dark. He smells it from here and his mouth dries. "Wrap that up, quickly," he bites out.

Shiro smirks in his direction and lifts his thumb to his mouth to suck at the pad to stop the bleed.

"Bastard," and he turns to his horse, running his fingers through her mane to soothe himself.

He hears Shiro's faint chuckle. "Come on, let's set up camp. There's nothing to do until the sun sets." He wraps the silver dagger back up with the cloth and sets it atop his saddle. His horse is still, not a twitch, and the blade stays perfectly balanced against the hard leather.

Keith moves to the straps at the back of his mare and undoes various buckles. He brings out a small leather roll and hard case. Glass clinks softly inside.

He sets his things down in front of the small fire Shiro is in the process of building. He stands and retrieves the last item, a small, iron cauldron. His horse huffs and shakes, glad to be rid of the weight. He smiles at her and pats her flank. She tosses her head and leans back down to graze at the short grass on the outer circle of their camp. She drifts over to Shiro's mare, their big bodies blocking the breeze and the smell of horse passes right through Keith's nostrils.

“I've never seen a horse so taken with you Keith,” Shiro says with an amused tone.

Keith nods and makes to set the cauldron over the fire. He pulls out a flask and pours some water into it. “She's not afraid of me,” he says. “Not like the others.”

“She's probably just grateful that you relieved her of her previous master,” Shiro says. He has his whetstone out and is methodically sharpening his whittling knife in slow circles.

Keith nods, a small flash of anger rising to the forefront of his mind. They had found her at the edge of a farm, grazing at some sparse brown grass, skinny but friendly, even with all the scarred, white patches on her hindquarters. He had lowered the wooden battens and bribed her away with some dried peach pieces. He quickly snuffs his anger out before he starts brewing, lest he ruin the potion. He thinks of how they’ve been together ever since and she’s taken to being cheekily stubborn until he gives her some fruit.

They fall into silence, Shiro knowing well by now not to disturb Keith as he brews. They've had more than one encounter when his potion wouldn't work because at the time of brewing he had been distracted. Shiro bears the scar across his face for that and Keith swore that day, blood still on his clothes, that he would never-

A twig snaps from behind them and they turn, both on high alert but not startled.

“Help! Please!” And a man comes tumbling out of the brush. His clothes are brightly colored against his dark skin, but they're dirty at the hem. Running a while then.

Keith furrows his brow and looks to Shiro. Shiro shakes his head sharply. He hadn't heard the man come up on them, either.

The stranger stumbles into Keith, his long arms flying out and Keith catches him without staggering. He's trembling, Keith feels, and his face is hot against chest.

Keith hears the rabble of the stranger's pursuers. Their light armor creaks and their footfalls are heavy. They haven't crested the hill but they're close.

“Please, please, help me!” he whispers in a quiet, strained voice.

Keith pulls away and looks down. Bright blue eyes shine at him, and across one flushed cheek, the skin shines. His lip is cut close to the corner and Keith's senses reel.

He looks to Shiro again who just shrugs. “You're useless,” Keith says to him. Shiro shrugs again but he sees him grip the handle of the dagger he'd been sharpening and his eyes cut across the space between them to behind them. The horses block them for now, but the footfalls are coming closer.

“They'll kill me, please, help me,” the man pleads.

Keith reaches up and undoes the clasp at his throat. He swings his short cape over the stranger's shoulders. “We’ll help you but you must be silent,” he instructs as he fastens his cloak around slim shoulders. “Not a word. If they speak to you, or if we speak to you, just nod or shake your head.”  

“But my face-”

Keith shushes him as he pulls the hood up and over most of his face.

“No words, do you understand?” he says impatiently.

The man opens his mouth but snaps his jaws shut quickly with a click and nods vigorously. Keith sees white teeth and lush pink on the inside of his mouth before it does.

“Good,” he says. “Come and sit over here,” and guides the man to sit on the other side of the fire. Keith crouches down in front of him and peers into the shadowed hood. Those bright blue eyes stare back. Keith reaches up and passes his hand over his face, taking a chance to brush his bangs to the side. He feels a flustered huff against his hand but no vocal protest. “Good,” he repeats with a small smile.

He makes to stand and turns on his heel but a hand flashes out and grips his painfully. The palm is sweaty and cold and still trembling. “It's alright,” he says and bites his lip, weighing his next words against the danger. “I cast a minor glamour on you,” is all he says. Blue eyes grow wide, parted lips and then a slow nod in understanding.

The hand slowly slips from his and revert to two brown fists that rest in the stranger’s lap.

Keith smells the men before he sees them. They're loud and breathing heavy. They come upon their camp like bumbling fools. Shiro is calm but Keith hasn't traveled all these years with him to not know that he is a hair breath away from fighting.

“Have you seen a man run through here?” One of them says.

Keith looks up and looks them over. They don’t look intimidating but then again, neither does he.

“No,” he says simply.

“Neither have I,” Shiro responds. “We’re the only three out here and you’re the first fellows we’ve seen all day,” he adds.

The men around them sigh but there’s one in the back with sharp eyes that don’t leave the figure of their stranger.

“Two horses but three travelers,” he says and all the men shift from weary to alert. “You there, with the hood,” he says. He’s not loud, but his voice is commanding. One of the other men step forward and Keith tenses the muscles in his legs. The stranger with the blue eyes stiffens but he turns his face upwards, showing off only his nose and mouth.

The man that was approaching glances down and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “It’s not _pevun’ya_ ,” the man says.

The man in the back steps forward. “Say something in your defense,” he says.

Keith knows better than to cut his eyes to Shiro's, knows that there's at least one pair of eyes watching him and it'll draw too much attention to the situation. “He’s-”

Many things happen at once and it takes a second longer than it should for him to realize that something isn't right. The breeze, until up a moment ago, was soft and cool but he suddenly feels the cold nip of a gale. It rustles the leaves of the half dead birch trees around them in a flurry and there's the excited twitter from a pair of birds, but soon all the sounds fall away.

Every hair at the back of his neck stands up.

His eyes rivet to the stranger. His hood has fallen back with the wind and his eyes glitter like water in the sun. His mouth is open and from it, a sweet sound is pouring out. It rises and falls as if in song and Keith is suddenly entranced. His muscles ease and a strange calm settles over him.

He doesn't know for how long he sits there, mouth agape.

He watches as the stranger closes his mouth and the song abruptly ends. He has a strained smile on his face.

He rises, a smooth ripple of movement and Keith follows the motion with hungry eyes.

“Thank you, and I'm sorry,” he says as he comes to lean over Keith. “I only have this to give you in exchange for your mare,” and two metal coins clink into his palm. “I'll treat her well, but I can't stay with you,” he says. He reaches up and brushes Keith's hair away from his face. A pendant swings from inside his shirt, a pale sapphire on a golden chain. Keith can see down the front of his shirt, his sugar brown skin, the bend of his waist, a nipple- his rabid hunger rises to the fore as he looks at his slender neck-

The gem glints in the sun and the light slices through the fog of his mind.

“Y-you can’t take h-her,” he says and lifts a hand, grips at one of the stranger's pant legs.

Blue eyes widen in shock and the stranger notices Keith's gaze on his necklace. He quickly hides it away again and opens his mouth. The song flows forth again and soothes him, makes him relax. “You're the first in a long while to resist me,” he says. “I'll leave your mare in the closest town, then. Don't worry, for you I'll make it so,” and he reaches up to brush Keith's bangs away from his forehead again. “Thank you for your kindness,” and the song changes, quiets, and Keith's eyes go heavy.

*

It's dark when he awakens. A small fire is going and Shiro is tending to it. Keith rises to a sitting position and sees that three of the men are tied up and gagged against a tree, all still asleep. The man with the keen eyes, though, sits across from Shiro, his hands and feet bound. They're quietly talking.

“Oh, finally. I’m surprised you've slept this long,” Shiro says. “How do you feel?”

Keith takes internal stock. “Good, actually,” he says. Really good. It feels like he's had a full night's rest on a comfortable bed even though it has only been a few hours since-

He looks at his hand curled in a fist and opens his fingers. Two silver coins glint in the low light. He squeezes his hand back into a fist and the metal bites into his palm.

“What happened?” He says, standing. He looks around and sure enough his horse is missing. His things are propped up against a tree.

“ _Pevun’ya_ happened to you, whelp,” the man with the sharp eyes says. He says the name like a curse.

Keith bites his tongue at the comment. Better for him to think him young and stupid. They've gotten a deal more information this way, in the past.

He tilts his head.

“My new friend here has been regaling me with stories of his travels,” Shiro says and pokes at the campfire. There's a small stew brewing. Keith nods and makes his way to his rucksack on the ground. He flips the flap and a quick investigation shows that mostly everything is there. Some pieces of jerky and rations are missing, and his-

“We need to go,” Keith says suddenly, closing the flap and pulling it over his shoulder.

Shiro looks at him curiously and the man watches.

“My mother's knife,” is all he says and Shiro's mouth thins into a narrow line.

“It'll be high moon in a few hours,” he says with a frown.

“It'll keep. The thing’s been here for weeks,” he’s already making Shiro's horse ready. “We don't have the trap ready, besides,” he argues.

“You'll break your neck in the dark,” Shiro counters.

“My. Knife!” Keith shouts, not looking at Shiro. Shiro’s horse whinnies and shuffles away. Keith huffs and runs a hand across her side.

Shiro huffs in reply. “Fine, go. I'll catch up to you.” He turns to the sharp eyed man. “I'll keep my new friend company for a while,” he says.

“Three days,” Keith says.

Shiro nods.

Keith hoists himself up and Shiro's horse nickers uncomfortably. He doesn't let his nerves show, though, and nudges her with his knees. He pulls her reigns around making to go. The closest town is half a day’s ride away. If the stranger didn’t ride hard, he’d be there.

“Whelp,” the sharp eyed man says, “Take heed. Do not let _pevun’ya_ cast its spell on you. You'll regret being alive,” he says.

“Why do you call him that?”

“That monster enslaves any man that hears its voice. Strike its jaw and break it, lest you suffer at its mercy,” he says.

“Like you did?” Keith accuses. The vivid cut and shiny cheek stand out in his mind’s eye against tanned skin.

“If my Lord weren’t so besotted with the creature I would have done much worse,” he glares hard. “If you capture it and return it to him, there's a fine reward for you and your companion,” he offers. “Eight hundred coin,” he adds. “With or without me present.” He eyes Shiro angrily. “I know what you are, beast. I’m no fool to think you'll let my company live the night,” he spits on the ground. “And you, whelp, I know you as well.”

“Then we're not so different,” he replies. He looks at Shiro again. “Three days,” he repeats.

Keith snaps the reigns and nudges the mare’s sides and she breaks into a canter. He snaps again and urges her into a gallop.

“Trust me,” he says and leans close to her neck. “I'll make you fly,” he says and concentrates, focuses his magic into his eyes. Everything sharpens and it's like it's daytime again for him. The sound and feel of the horse under him, the steady beat of hooves on the dirt, the warm night air rushing over his cheeks. For the first time in a long while, Keith smiles.

*

He reaches the town three hours later. The moon is a half circle low in the sky.

Shiro's horse nickers and shakes her head as he dismounts and is glad to see that his own horse is tied to one of the beams outside an inn. He pulls a boy to him and presses a gold coin into his palm. “Get the horsemaster, please. This one has ridden hard,” he says as he motions to Shiro’s mare. “Make sure he brushes her down well. Have them put up for me.” He presses another coin into the boy’s palm. “This is your payment,” he tells him. The little boy looks into his hand and then back up at Keith, smiles up at him with a hole in the upper row of his teeth. Keith smiles back. “Go, now,” he tells the boy softly and he runs off.

He leads Shiro's horse next to his and ties the reins. “Hey, girl,” he says and makes to pet her nose. She tosses her head and jerks away. “Don't be like that,” he says with a frown. “I'll bring you some apples later,” he promises. “Now, where is he, hmm?” He asks as he strokes down her forelock. She stamps her hoof into the dirt and tosses her head to the building in front of them. “Alright, thanks,” he says and pats her wide neck.

He pulls his hood up and hides his face in its shadow. He slips in behind a pair of men and hugs the wall, keeping close to the corner of the room. He quickly scans the area but doesn't see the blue eyed man. Keith closes his eyes and focuses. His nose catches a faint whiff of the blood from earlier, diluted in water, but still familiar.

Upstairs, then.

He wakes his way quietly up the staircase and follows the scent floating out from under the door of the last room at the end of the hall. He grasps the door handle and twists forcefully to break the lock and opens the door quietly.

He's expecting a clout to the side of his head but none comes.

What he does see, however, is his quarry spreadeagled, face down on the bed. He presses the door closed and props a chair under the handle. It won't hold a heavy blow but it'll maintain the facade of a locked room.

Keith approaches on light feet.

He winces as he nears. The man has removed his tunic; Keith sees it and a pair of pants hanging to dry over a changing partition. His gaze is drawn to the light coloured scars crisscrossing the man’s back. Torture is not uncommon in this part of the world, and the strikes tell the tale of submission, of teaching a pet the call to heel. There aren’t many and they’re mostly faded white, old, but there’s one or two lines that are still freshly pink.

“You've surprised me twice now, hunter,” comes his voice and Keith doesn't pretend to be startled. He knew the exact moment this man woke.

“I came for something you stole,” he growls.

“Your horse is fine and outside,” he yawns and shifts to peek at Keith from under his bangs.

“Not my horse,” he says and plants a knee into the mattress. The man doesn't move, lies prone on the bed, but his body slides towards him with Keith's added weight. “My knife,” he demands.

One blue eye peers up at him. His lips part.

Keith's hand is around the back of his neck in an instant. He doesn’t even need to threaten.

That lush mouth closes. Opens again. “How did you get here so fast?”

“You took the wrong horse. Shiro's mare is faster. She rides hard,” he says. The man's skin is warm and he can feel the heavy pulse of his blood under his palm where he’s holding him down.

“Yours is gentle,” the man says. “She's told me a lot about you,” he adds and starts to shift. His throat slides under Keith's hand, body rolling to face up and the smooth plane of his chest is only broken by the delineation of his pectoral muscles and two small, brown nipples. They’ve peaked in the room’s cool air and Keith fights the urge to touch them. “Tell me, hunter, have you come across my kind before?” The blue gem the color of the sky is laying next to his ear on the bed, the glinting golden chain it’s attached to long and curling around his throat like a thread of silk.

“I've heard stories,” he says, fingers flexing against that long neck. He squeezes, relaxes his grip, but the man does not tense. “But no, not me personally.”

“Your companion must have broken my song early for you to still be alive,” he muses and shifts his legs under the sheet. They rise and spread and Keith is distracted for moment.

“Why do you say that?”

“Those men that were chasing me, they wouldn’t have let you go, otherwise,” he says as he raises his arm. Warm fingers touch at the back of Keith’s hand, then, growing bolder, press down harder and slide up to stroke along his arm. “Your companion, he's different from you, but still inhuman,” he muses. He tracks his touch with his blue eyes. “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” he bites. All of his blood is following to the surface where this man’s fingers are touching.

“You were still a babe when you were turned,” he says with a frown.

Keith scoffs. He was old enough to be considered a man, back then. But that was almost several lifetimes ago, now. Though, he answers with a, truthful, “Yes,” and he doesn't know why but he desperately wants to tell this man everything.

“And in all your long years, have you ever had anything as sweet as I smell?” His eyes glitter like sapphires.

“No,” Keith grits out. He sees the pulse in the man’s neck jump wildly.

“Would you like a taste?” And the man rises up, Keith's hand still around his throat, and presses flush all along his front. The man pulls his bottom lip into this mouth and breaks the healing cut at the corner of his lip. It doesn't bleed but the wound is opened afresh. Cloying. “Vampyre?”

Keith let's the red fog roll over him, and he growls. He slips his hand around and into the short locks at the back of the man's head.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he says, fighting against his instincts. His tongue darts out and licks at the cut and it's a teasing prelude of what's being offered. He can’t help it.

“Oh, I do,” he says and throws his arms around Keith's neck. “Just as I know werewolf's blood makes you wild, mine will, too, in a way. Things like you and me, we need to look out for one another,” he giggles. “Plus, I like it a little bit rough,” he purrs. “You're exactly my type,” he says.

Keith growls again and hoists the man close, tucking his face into his neck. He breathes deep, opens his mouth. “I could kill you,” he says, teeth starting to lengthen without his permission.

“You could,” he giggles again, the sound of little bells. “But you won't.” He reaches down and cups his hand against Keith's crotch. “I'll make it worth your while,” he murmurs and turns his head, baring his throat.

And this is dangerous. Keith hasn’t fed in days. He could easily drain this man of all his blood. He nips at skin, his teeth still sharp and his gums aching.

“Come on, hunter,” and a warm, wide palm pushes him back. Keith watches a little dazed as a brown hand reaches under the pillow to pull out his mother’s dagger. “Let’s play,” he says with a pur.

Alarms are going off in his head, his mind racing, urging his body to react to the danger but his limbs aren’t listening. His muscles feel heavy, his movement lethargic. He watches with wide eyes as his knife comes up to the man’s neck, pressing the blade just under his jaw. The skin divots under the line of steel but doesn’t break. Teases.

He slides the blade lower over his clavicle. Hums in his mouth and motions upwards towards Keith and he can feel the sharp pressure of the tip as it twists and slices the leather thong that keeps the throat of his tunic together. His shirt parts down his chest, the air in the room charged hot against his skin. Keith takes the knife and sets it down on the bedside table. He pulls the slender wrist up to his mouth and runs his lips over a thudding pulse point, opens his mouth and runs his teeth over the vein there.

Keith opens his eyes and lock their gazes. The man’s whole body is still, eyes wide and luminous in his face. He’s waiting for Keith to bite him, sink his teeth in. But, if he can be a tease, so can Keith. He closes his mouth and presses his lips up his inner arm, following the long line of his artery, past the joint in his elbow, over the soft flesh of his inner bicep and back over the curve of his neck. The man’s breath is deep and heavy.

“What a dangerous game you play, siren,” he says.

The man moans, throwing his head back. “You don’t- Don’t call me that,” he pleads.

“It’s what you are,” he argues softly, nuzzling at the warm collum of skin under his mouth. “Why deny it?”

“Being this way, it’s only caused me misery,” he says and Keith tastes salt on his tongue suddenly. He jerks back to look and the man is crying. His eyes are closed and silver tracks of tears are running down his cheeks.

"What do you wish me call you, then?" he asks, wiping the tears gently away.

The man nuzzles at his hand, closes his eyes. Inhales deeply and exhales slowly. "Lance," he offers. "Call me Lance."

"Very well, Lance," he says and he swoops down and presses his mouth against the other's. "What do you want?"

"Rough- make it rough," but his voice is trembling and Keith can sense the lie in his words. "Make me forget, please."

"Forget what?" but he knows. Keith sees the shadows in his irises, the dark skin that smudges under eyes. "I won't let you forget me."

Keith sweeps his hands down over warm skin, the protruding bumps of his ribs, to cup at the hollow of his hips. His thumbs dig into the soft flesh under his belly button, rubbing in small circles.

“Oh,” Lance sighs, sinking back on to the mattress. He shifts his legs under the sheet again, a quiet whisper of movement. “Please, hunter,” and he shimmies a little higher onto the bed. The sheet that had bunched around his waist falls low over his hips, baring the flat pane of his pelvis, smooth and covered with a fine layer of small, light colored hairs. There’s a slight creeping of darker coarse hair, lower and semi-hidden, where the edge of sheet starts. Keith brings his mouth down and kisses the exposed skin his lips find.

Keith can smell him this close, the sweet musk his body is exuding. His senses reel with it. Long fingers comb through his hair, gently cradle the back of his neck. “Hunter, please-”

Keith rises up and kisses him. Slides his tongue inside of that red red mouth. Keith kisses at the corner of Lance’s mouth, worrying that the cut and the salty tang of his wound makes his blood boil. “Keith,” he says, dragging his lips over the curve of Lance’s cheek. “If we’re using names, mine is Keith.”

Lance, moans his fingers spasming against his back. “No self-preservation at all,” he chuckles. “Do you know what I can do with your name?” he threatens. “Keith?”

Keith shivers at the sound of his name coming out from that mouth. “Yes,” he says. Let him fall. Let him be cast under the Siren’s spell.

“Take it, then,” Lance says, dropping his head back and baring the long line of his throat to the room and Keith’s hungry eyes. The cords in his neck stand out, the vein running along the edge of his throat is thick and Keith watches with his sharp eyes as it throbs with every beat of Lance’s heart.

“Not yet,” he says, but still runs his lips over the area. He licks the skin, breathes him in. “I’m going to have you first,” he tells him and with one swift jerk, pulls the sheet away.

Lance gasps, his thighs instinctively pulling closed but Keith’s hips are there to block the movement. He looks down the creamy expanse of Lance’ body. He’s caramel colored all over, with a kept splatter of coarse hair at the apex of his thighs. His cock is hard, a lovely dusky pink and…

Keith stills.

He looks up to Lance’s eyes and see that his pupils are blown wide and glittering. His breathing is heavy.

Keith looks back down and reaches out his hand to touch. Gets nervous and changes the trajectory to grip at Lance’s smooth hip instead. Lance’s cock bobs as he twitches with arousal and the jewelry seated at the tip sways along with him. Keith can only describe it as a delicate gold piercing that hoops right through the small slit. Attached to the hoop are thin twin chains that separate and attach to two balls that nestle just under the crown. Keith can see that they’re connected under the skin by a bar that runs the width of the shaft.

He’s never seen anything like it.

It’s beautiful.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“It did, once,” Lance tells him. “But not anymore. Now, it only gives me pleasure,” he tells him. His hand comes up and pulls at his cock, causing the skin to bunch under the jewelry. He pulls his hand back down, pulls the skin taut, and shows off the piercing in all its glory. Keith feels like he’s seen god. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” he says a little breathlessly.

“Do you want to touch it?” Lance asks, amite playfully.

Keith immediately shakes his head. He wouldn’t be able to stop if he started. He can just look and oh-

Lance sits up, the muscles in his abdomen engaging enticingly and he pushes at Keith’s shoulders. He pushes him more and Keith is still stupidly stupefied and he lands with a soft whuff to the mattress. Lance straddles him and the two chains sway with his movements. “Watch me, then,” he says and starts to touch himself. One hand goes to his cock, twisting at the wrist and the other comes up to pinch at a small nipple. Keith takes it all in.

He suddenly feels a rush of jealousy. His hands fly up and grab at Lance’s hips, his nails digging into the skin.

Lance hisses, bucks his hips. Throws his head back and moans. “No one,” he pants, “Not even one of them,” he says. He looks back down at Keith. “The master only wanted me to sing for him. They didn’t touch me like that, they were too scared to.” Keith squeezes his hips again, relief flooding through him.

“Make yourself ready,” Keith tells him. Lance’s eyes flash and his hand immediately drops to behind his back. Keith snatches that hand back, fingers tight around his wrist. “Gently,” he commands.

Lance frowns down at him.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Lance, guides his hand, the one that was getting ready to ease into himself, the one that was stroking his cock, and sucks two fingers into his mouth. He tastes the salty brine of Lance's arousal, of his skin, and it makes his cock twitch in his trousers. He watches with hooded eyes as a flush rises high into Lance’s cheeks. “I’ll give you what you asked for, but you do this gently,” he tells him and licks around the intrusion inside his mouth. He gets Lance’s fingers wet, shiny with his spit and lets his fangs graze the skin. A promise of what was promised to him. He guides Lance’s hand back, settles his palm against the dip in his spine and watches unblinkingly at Lance’s face as his fingers slowly sink into himself.

Lance sighs, his thighs widening over Keith and he settles heavily over his hips. Keith’s cock strains against the diffused heat of Lance’s body. It craves. His teeth inch out further, his gums aching, threatening to prick his own lip on their decent. Lance’s cock bobs again as he looks at Keith’s mouth, spearing his fingers deeper. The chains tinkle together as he sways.

Keith curls his hand around and touches at where Lance is touching, the skin hot and slick.

He feels the body above him relax further and the tip of Keith’s finger slides in right along the others.

“Keith!”

A long line of translucent pre-come, syrup thick, drools from the tip of Lance’s cock.

Keith slides his finger free, goes back to holding at Lance’s hip. He presses the finger of his other hand to the tip of Lance’s cock, carefully swirling the fluid around. “Hurts?” he checks, coating the entire head.

Lance shakes his head.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he says.

Lance tilts his head curiously.

Keith focuses his magic, gathers it under his fingertips and lets it go. He’s been told that his eyes flash a deep red when he expends his magic and he hears Lance gasp when they do. A small zing of electricity leaves his fingertips and arcs across the gold hoop curled through the slit.

Lance’s gasp slips into a keen, mouth gaped wide, head thrown back. His hand flies down to grip at the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm. His skin is raised bumps everywhere, every fine hair on his body standing on absolute end. His chest rises and falls harshly and his nipples are peaked to their sharpest point. Keith can only watch, enraptured, as Lance comes down from it, the gradual smoothing of his skin. But the arousal is still there, still keyed high and thrumming through his body and when Lance looks down at him, his sapphire irises are swallowed by the pitch black of his need.

He leans over, strikes his hand out to fist into the hair at Keith’s temple. He kisses him with fervor, his breath hot and heavy. “Please,” he whines, “Please, again, please,” he begs.

“Only once more,” he tells him.

Lance whines, his eyes bright and opens his mouth to protest but Keith cuts him off. “I’m not going to damage you,” he tells him.

Lance closes his eyes and nods. The hard ridge of his forehead grinds into Keith’s sweaty one. The air is getting close and humid. “Yes, okay- anything. Whatever you’ll give me,” he pleads.

He brings his hand in, just the tips playing with the soft head and the hard jut of the piercing. The pre-come is more copious now, slick and hot as it flows out of the tiny hole. He looks at Lance, still leaning close to him, pupils still wide and black and endless. Keith tugs on one side of the chain very gently, just a little twitch of his finger and Lance grunts.

“Please!” Lance begs and Keith lets the frisson of magic pass through his skin into the conductive metal and Lance’s eyes roll back in their sockets and he closes his eyes. He rocks his hips, bunches the muscles in his arm behind him and must shove his fingers in deeper.

Something hot and thick splatters against his abdomen and they both look down in to where Lance has painted Keith's skin with his seed. He's panting hard, eyes screwed tightly shut. His hand is white knuckled at the base of his cock and even that hadn't deterred his orgasm.

Keith rolls Lance off of him to the side and makes to stand. He pulls his shirt over his head and uses it to wipe the remains of come from his stomach. His fingers fuss with the laces holding his pants together but Lance’s hands are there suddenly, yanking urgently and he shoves the extra cloth aside. His mouth is immediately there, swallowing Keith down in one rapid, graceful ripple of his throat.

He grunts and lays his hands on broad shoulders to keep himself standing. He runs one hand through chocolate colored locks and they sift through his fingers like strands of silk. He looks down as Lance pleasures him with this mouth, his tongue doing a wicked twist against the shaft right before he suckles the head. He looks up at Keith from under his lashes with half-hooded eyes. “You’re beautiful,” Keith says and cups under Lance’s chin as he withdraws. A long line of saliva stretches from his cockhead to Lance’s tongue, breaks at their growing distance, and Keith gladly bends at the waist and licks it up, from the base of his throat to the seam of his lips, and shoves his tongue inside. He can taste himself and he’s giddy with it.

Keith clambers onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress and he presses his front all along Lance’s lean back. He strokes down the man’s sides, runs his fingers through the valley of his spine. Grits his teeth as the pads of his fingers skip over the raised scars.

“Don’t,” Lance says, voice dark and heavy. He’s stiff in all the wrong places, face turned away.

Keith tilts his head, assessing the tense line of Lance’s back. He leans forward and presses his lips reverently against the skin at his nape and trails his way down. He feels the muscles under his hands start to relax. “You’re beautiful,” he says again. He kisses low, lower, and Lance tenses up all over again, this time in anticipation. He rests his mouth at the tail of Lance’s spine, the skin under his lips and nose baby soft and warm, smelling of salt and spring flowers. He makes Lance wait, waits for the telltale increase of his breathing and he trails his mouth lower still.

The sound Lance makes as his tongue circles around the puckered skin is a desperate one.

Keith smiles against his work, pulls away. Rests his forehead against the slope of Lance’s back. “Good?” he asks.

Instead of replying with words, Lance’s hand snakes up and curls into his hair. He tugs and urges Keith’s mouth back down onto him. Keith smiles wide, braces his weight onto his knees and uses both his hands to hold Lance open to his ministrations. He spends a long time there, gently worrying the skin with his lips, opening his jaw wide and making a seal around the little hole and flutters the flat of his tongue over it, licks up from the flat stretch of his taint to the divot of his puckered entrance, over and over and over again. Lance tries to buck away at that but Keith holds him firm.

Keith pulls back and looks down. Lance’s hole is shiny and he watches as Lance squeezes his inner muscles, the little thing winking cutely in the open air. In the front, Lance’s cock jumps and the chains make such a lovely sound.

He shuffles on his knees and rests his cock against the back of Lance’s thigh. “I’m going to devour you, little bird,” he says and sways his hips. His cock slides against the heated space between Lance’s thighs.

Lance’s breath hitches. “Th-that name- don’t-”

“It’s alright. I know. But you’re not his anymore,” Keith assures him as he wraps his hand around Lance’s hard cock. “I can make you mine,” he says into Lance’s ear as he strokes, his thumb pressing against the slit, toying with the little gold hoop. He slides his hand away and grips at his own cock. He cups his palm under the head and lets spit drip from his mouth. Keith strokes down the shaft with his saliva, steadies the tip against Lance’s body. Holds there.

“If you let me,” he murmurs. “I can be the one that makes you sing.”

Lance tenses, peers back over his shoulder. Looks at Keith for a long moment. He moves then, as much as he can with Keith over him, throwing his long tanned arm over his shoulders and leverages up, kisses his mouth, hard and desperately wanting. “Yes,” he says and Keith immediately eases his way inside. Lance pants into his mouth, lips going lax as Keith stretches him open. He wails against Keith’s cheek when he seats himself fully. Keith slides from under Lance’s arm, plants his hand back to the mattress and takes him on all fours. Lance cries out as he fucks into him.

“That’s it, sing for me,” he urges, the hair on his arms standing on end as the room fills with the sound of Lance’s voice. They lock together after a few thrusts and Keith stays seated, let's Lance expand around him. Lance moans, struggles when he realizes that Keith isn’t going to move. He pushes against him, tries to rise up onto his knees but Keith is a immovable wall against his back and keeps him down on all fours.

“Louder, little bird. Let all of them hear you,” he grunts and he pulls out leaving just the tip. He teases the rim with it, reveling in the exquisite feel of how Lance grips the neck of his cock in little flutters. He pushes back in and Lance cries out, his knees spreading wider against the coverlet. “Louder,” Keith demands and whips his hips forwards with a snap.

And Lance does. Wails. Beautifully. Thrashes against Keith. He sobs and shakes with it, gasps when Keith pulls back slowly and shoves in just as quick.

Lance’s voice is sweet, so sweet and lilting and it runs through Keith’s veins like fire. He grips Lance’s slender hips tight as he fucks into him, making sure to press all the way to hilt on each pass. He glances up. Across the room is a simple standing mirror and he sees that Lance’s head hangs between his propped up arms. He grabs at the short hair at the top of Lance’s head and wrenches it back. “Look at yourself,” he says but the angle of his face is too steep, the mirror too far so Keith extends his hand with splayed fingers, makes a fist and pulls at the air like he would a rope and the mirror scrapes across the wooden floor as it comes closer to the bed. Lance moans loudly and his hole spasms around Keith’s cock.

Keith leans back on his haunches, takes their weight onto his thighs and bows Lance from throat to groin. The angle is different this way. Instead of fucking into him long and deep, he shallowly thrusts skywards with tight snaps of his hips, the head of his cock tapping right against Lance’s prostate on every upstroke. “Look at yourself, beautiful,” he says. He runs his hand down the stretched skin of Lance’s chest, the flat pane of his pelvis, cradles his palm under the heavy hang of Lance’s sac. The jewelry tinkles and sways with every rock of their hips.

“Keith!” he cries out, his hand flashing back to grip at Keith’s flank. His nails dig in hard as he holds on.

He presses his mouth to the curve that connects Lance’s shoulder to his head. He wraps his arm around Lance’s chest, his hand cupping under the cut of his chin and exposes the lovely line of his throat. His other hand comes up to stroke at the skin, his fingers tripping over the tendons underneath. “Do you remember what you promised me?” he asks, pulling Lance’s head sideways. He kisses the skin there and it breaks out in raised bumps.

“Keith, Keith,” he whines, tipping his head further. “Do it,” he says, watching themselves in the mirror with half lidded eyes.

“Are you close?” he asks. He trails his hand back down. Circles the base of Lance’s cock loosely, his little finger curling down the center of Lance’s sac as he holds him.

“Yes,” he gasps, squeezing Keith’s waist, squeezing Keith inside of him. “Please, oh- I need, when I come, do it, do it, bite me,” he begs.

And that’s all Keith needs to hear.

He holds Lance tightly to him, fucking him as fast and hard as their position allows, pushing out Lance’s breath in little _ah ah ah_ ’s. It’s intoxicating. Keith takes it all in. The heat of the room, of Lance’s skin, the furnace of his body- the smell of his sweat, the smell of his breath as it punches out of him at the peak of every thrust-

“Come, Lance, come for me and I’ll give you what you want,” and edges the points of his teeth against Lance’s vein. He nips the skin with his lips, presses down, threatens to break the skin and _take._  

Lance pants, throws his head back and Keith can smell it right before it happens-

And he’s biting down, biting through the thin skin at Lance’s neck and he can taste the sweet, heady tang of his orgasm-

And Lance comes. He comes and comes and comes, squeezing at Keith uncontrollably tight, arhythmic, going soft and gooey inside and his taste changes, sharpens.

Sings.

The sweet song flows through his blood and into Keith’s mouth, light on the water, and Keith gives one final, heaving shove and comes, spills himself into the welcoming heat of Lance’s body, his head stuffed full of cotton, the only thing he can focus on is the heavy syrup of Lance’s blood dancing on his tongue.

He loosens his jaw, licks at the blood dribbling out, nuzzles at the raised red skin of the puncture. His canines are too long and cumbersome in his mouth. Keith kisses the skin and smears blood everywhere.

He eases himself out and lays Lance's limp body onto the bed. He pets back his bangs and Lance’s eyes flicker up to his. They’re dark, still unfocused but Lance manages a small smile. Keith leans over and presses his lips to his cheek and moves away to clean up. There’s a small kettle warming by the fire and Keith pours water into the shallow cleaning bowl. He wipes down his chest and face, the back of his neck, the ridges of his torso. He finds another cloth and wrings it out and goes to Lance. He wipes down his broad back, between his thighs, grins a little as his seed trickles out. He presses the pads of two fingers to Lance’s hole and pushes the come back in, leans over and kisses his shoulder. Lance grunts, the muscles around Keith’s finger spasming.

“Keep it in,” he tells Lance. “I want you wet when we go again,” he admits.

Lance gives him a scandalized look and Keith chuckles still fiddling with his hole. He nuzzles at the wound he made, the scent of blood dissipating as the wound coagulates. He kisses around the skin, licking when his lips come across stray blood and cleans him with his mouth.

“Did you mean it?” Lance asks suddenly. His voice is hushed, strained. A little nervous. Keith sits back, wipes his hand on the cloth and throws it into the corner of the room. “What you said.” he turns onto his side, a soft whisper of cloth.

Keith looks at him, really looks. He’s wary but unafraid. Skin glowing like a beacon where the firelight hits him.

It’s been a long time since Keith has wanted anything this badly.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“You don’t even know me,” Lance says, casting his face down.

“You don’t know me, either. But you let me bite you,” he tells him. “You let me inside you,” he reminds him. Even though it had only happened a short time ago, he reminds him.

“You play dangerously, hunter,” Lance says as he reaches up and plays with the pendant around his neck. Keith’s eyes rivet to it.

“You play the game with me well, siren,” and Keith reaches out, takes Lance’s fidgeting fingers in his. “Whatever you want, Lance. I’ll give it to you.” He traces the raised knuckles of his hand, fingers stroking the soft valleys in between.

“And if I ask for that man’s head on a pike?”

“I’ll let you cut it from his neck yourself,” he tells him. “I’ve done much worse to evil for less than what has been done to you,” Keith tells him. “Is that what you want?” he asks softly, but he knows that it’s not.

Lance shakes his head. “No, he has a little girl. She,” he swallows and a small smile spreads across his face. “She was kind to me,” he tells Keith.

“Then you’re a better man than I am,” he says as he stretches out beside Lance. He pulls his hand and Lance falls onto him, tucked under his arm and resting his cheek on his chest. After a few minutes he feels Lance start to tremble. Keith runs his hand through Lance’s hair.

“I never thought I would ever get away,” he says.

“But you did, and it’s in the past now,” he tells him, pulling him close. “And as for the future,” he pauses, chooses his words, “As long as you want it, we can be together.”

Lance is silent and he’s silent for so long that Keith thinks he’s fallen asleep.

“I want it, as long as you’ll have me,” he says, quietly, lips moving like a breeze over his skin. “What about your companion?”

Keith mulls it over. “We’ve been together a long time,” Keith tells him. “He’ll understand this choice. Even if we go our separate ways, he’ll-”

“I don’t want you to separate because of me,” Lance interrupts and rises over him. “I know how important he is to you,” he tells him, shyly. “I can’t be the one that comes between you.”

Keith looks into his face. Slides his hand up his taut arm. “We travel a lot. Far. To places not many people see,” he offers.

Lance smiles brightly then. “Oh?” he flops back down and slams into Keith. The movement forces the air out of him. “I’ve always wanted to travel. Being cooped up in that one place for so long,” he says and shakes his head, dismissing the thought. He finger-walks his way down Keith’s abdomen. “Have you been to the ocean?”

He captures Lance’s hand before it can stray any lower. His body has already started to take interest again, but it can wait a moment. “We’ve been there a few times,” Keith tells him. He sees them in his mind’s eyes now, on horseback, racing the sun. “There’s some business we have to finish if we were to go that way. You came upon our hunt,” he tells Lance cautiously.

“The varg,” he nods. “Something’s wrong with it,” Lance says. “I know how to subdue it without having to blood trap it,” he finishes.

Keith looks down at him in wonder.

When Keith doesn’t say anything, Lance looks up at him. He scoffs. “The master didn’t keep just me, you know,” Lance tells him. He tilts his head. “Except he’s not my master anymore, now, is he?” and Lance gives him a cheeky smile, one Keith knows he’s going to see often.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted some vampire sex and cute jewelry on Lance's cock :') Sue me.


End file.
